


And Have Not We Affections

by planet_plantagenet



Category: Othello - Shakespeare
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Ambiguous Relationships, Canon Rewrite, Conversations, F/F, Gender Roles, Past Relationship(s), ambiguous time period, discussions around infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 09:14:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10357095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/planet_plantagenet/pseuds/planet_plantagenet
Summary: A rewrite of 4.3, the willow song scene.Let husbands knowTheir wives have sense like them: they see and smellAnd have their palates both for sweet and sour,As husbands have. What is it that they doWhen they change us for others? Is it sport?I think it is: and doth affection breed it?I think it doth: is't frailty that thus errs?It is so too: and have not we affections,Desires for sport, and frailty, as men have?





	

The last sorrowful notes of Desdemona’s song faded out, leaving the room quieter than before. Her eyes were fixed on a point in space, barely seeming to notice her surroundings. I shifted my position on the bed ever so slightly, and she blinked, turned back towards me with a monumental sigh.

“Do you think, Emilia,” Desdemona began, after a second, “that there are women who mistreat their husbands?”

“Probably,” I replied.

“Do you think there are many?”

“I doubt it.” Perhaps I might’ve brought up the nature of the patriarchy, but this didn’t seem the time.

Desdemona let out another breath. There was silence for a few seconds.

“Iago isn’t very nice to you,” she said finally.

I almost laughed. “Really! Where did you get that impression?”

“Why did you marry him?”

My sarcastic smile faltered at the question. I didn’t feel like reliving those memories at the moment. “I was coerced into it… that’s the simple answer. You know that. I’ve talked about this before.”

“Do you love him?”

“No.”

“Then why do you stay with him?”

I took a breath. “Because I’m afraid of what will happen if I don’t. That’s the nature of an abusive relationship.” Pause. “Perhaps that’s something you can understand now?”

Desdemona stiffened, eyes on the floor. “What do you mean?”

“Othello. He hit you, accused you of infidelity, called you a whore….”

“Nothing I didn’t deserve,” she mumbled.

“Surely you don’t believe that.”

She didn’t respond, beginning to stand up—then sat back down next to me on the bed again, shaking her head in sorrow and confusion.

“Would you cheat on Iago?” was her next sudden inquiry.

“What an interesting question.”

“Would you?”

“Oh, it depends.”

“On what?”

“First of all, I’d have to ensure that I wouldn’t be caught.”

“So you would.”

“In theory.”

“And—” Desdemona paused, chose her words carefully. “And you have no moral problem with doing something like that?”

I leaned back on the bed’s headrest. “It’s a morally tricky situation, yes. Under normal circumstances, I don’t think cheating is right. But when your husband manipulates, harms, and abuses you? Who wouldn’t love to make that kind of person a cuckold?”

“You think he deserves it?”

“Are you kidding? Of course he deserves it, and more.”

Desdemona sighed. “And your other… criteria. You would cheat on Iago if you didn’t get caught.”

“Oh, in a heartbeat.”

“With what man?”

I sat up, grinning at her. “Who says it has to be a man?”

It took Desdemona only a second to catch my implication, and she hastily broke eye contact with me. “I’m not—that isn’t—I’m not a woman who falls in love with other women.”

“That’s not what you said two months ago.”

She didn’t respond.

“Before you met Othello,” I continued.  _ When you kissed me and told me that Iago didn’t deserve me. _

“That’s… that’s over, Emilia. A thing of the past.”

Her words sent a chill through me, but I didn’t press the matter further. I laid back down on the bed, turning the former question back on her. “And what about you? Would you cheat on Othello?”

“Not for the world,” was her immediate answer.

“The world’s a huge thing.”

She sighed. “I’m not in your situation, Emilia. I love Othello, and he loves me.”

“It sure doesn’t seem like it.”

A pause. Desdemona shook her head. “I… he’s changed. He’s angry. It’s okay. He’ll change. It’ll be okay in the end—”

“Then why do you sing a song of death?”

That stopped her, and she finally looked up at me with wide eyes.

I continued. “Look. I’m not trying to deny your feelings for Othello, or even his feelings for you, whatever they may be. But you can’t deny that your situation is dangerous.”

“What… what do you suppose I should do?”

“Leave.”

“Leave? Leave Othello?”

“Yes.”

“And yet you talk of being too scared to leave Iago.”

“I wouldn’t be scared if you were with me.”

Desdemona opened her mouth, closed it. “I… you want me to run away with you?”

“Essentially, yes.”

“Emilia—”

“We’d go somewhere where no one could find us. I have a couple of ideas. I also have a backpack with everything we’d need. It wouldn’t be easy, but it wouldn’t be impossible.”

I couldn’t read the emotions on her face. “You’ve… been planning this for a while, then.”

“Yes.”

“And once we got… wherever we were going… what would we do?”

“Whatever you’d like.”

Silence again—the tangible kind, where a single word can, like a knife, shatter the glass wall between two people.

“I should go to bed,” Desdemona murmured.

“Are you dismissing me, then?”

She said nothing, but made no motion to draw the covers back, nor move in any way from the position in which she was sitting. I couldn’t help but think that if Desdemona were to sleep now, she might not be alive in the morning.

“Just think about it, okay?” I said finally.

“I… yes. I will. I’ll think about it.”

“Okay.”

A second passed. Then I slid off the bed and stood to leave. Desdemona abruptly rose as well, concern on her face.

“You’re going?”

“You said you wanted to sleep.”

“I do, but—” Pause. “I don’t feel safe.”

“Because Othello will be coming back soon? Because you think something might happen while you’re asleep?”

She looked at the ground, and I thought I saw tears sparkling in her eyes. I quickly walked back over to her, brushing a hand over her shoulder.

“I’ll stay as long as you want me to,” I whispered.

“But if Othello comes back—he won’t want you here—”

“To hell with what Othello wants. What do you want?”

“I want you to be safe. I don’t want Othello to take out his anger on you.”

“And you’d rather he take it out on you?”

“I—I don’t know. I deserve it more than you do.”

“You don’t—!”

“He thinks I do.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

Desdemona shook her head slowly, wiping her eyes on the back of her palm. “I think… I think it would be better if you left, okay?”

“Okay,” I whispered back. “I’ll check on you in a couple hours, how about that?”

“All right.”

Silence for a second again. Neither of us had moved. Desdemona looked so sorrowful yet so beautiful… and didn’t she deserve  _ something _ positive this desolate night? So I leaned forward and gently kissed her.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” I said after a moment.

She didn’t respond, but I thought I saw a smile creep across her lips.


End file.
